


knock twice if you love me

by peculiarblue



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 100 ways to say i love you, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Cisco Ramon & Iris West Friendship, F/M, Oh yes, POV Iris West, You are welcome, but only 50 because im weak, it happened, its what we deserve, only gets a lil angsty in the middle, otherwise we in real fluff territiory, reporter iris hell yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 07:39:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16990809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarblue/pseuds/peculiarblue
Summary: recently kicked out of a relationship she thinks she had no business being dumped from, iris west realizes she doesn't believe in love. and she's not going to start just to write some stupid article on it, even if the charming boy with the brightest smile she's ever seen seems determined to tell her her loves her every day without ever saying those three words.(AU in which iris learns theres more than 50 ways to say i love you... and maybe says a few of them to the hot neighbor herself)





	knock twice if you love me

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit another one, i never write this fast... the power that westallen holds...
> 
> anyway, in case this wasn't clear, this is an au where barry and iris are neighbors, mid-twenties, but have never met before this story, and other than that most of the early show cannon still stands, including journalist iris because it is what we deserve <3
> 
> and a p.s. to anyone who read my last westallen fic and left some love on it--thank you! your kind words encouraged me to write some more, and thus, this fic was born.
> 
> i'm sorry it's so long, i couldn't figure out how to break it up so now you just get the whole thing at once yay, hopefully it is long enough to hold you through the hiatus (sorry, too soon?)
> 
> i apologize for typos and inconsistencies and whatnot, and with that, we come to the end of my spiel... thank you, and enjoy!

* * *

 

_Falling in love today has never been more difficult._

She laughs.

 

_With new advancements in technology, communication has seemingly never been easier. Yet, falling in love remains our world’s most daunting task._

Wine. She needs more wine if she’s going to keep writing this.

_Nothing is quite as black and white as it used to be, but is that a good thing? Disillusioned couples once living in marital bliss are waking up more indifferent, unsatisfied, and alone, facing the staggering fact that 50% of all marriages end in divorce. Critics are quick to attack the establishment of marriage itself, and the false realities society places on couples because of it. But why are we treating the symptoms when we should be treating the cause?_

Would she get fired? Probably. Will she keep writing? It’s cathartic.

 

_True love. The biggest scam invented since bottled water. Why are we so quick to believe it will find us, why do we wait for some ‘perfect someone’ to bump into us in a meet-cute fit for a Nicholas Sparks novel? It’s about time we all learn to grow up, pull our heads out of our Leonardo DiCaprio movies, learn to slow down instead of rush in, delete the cheesy metaphors from our Instagram captions, stop waiting for holding someone’s hand to make time feel like it stopped because it is unrealistic and stupid and WRONG and if you ever think you feel something that is meant to be well let me be the first to give you a reality check it is NOT AND FALLING IN LOVE IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO ME AND NOW I ALL I FEEL IS STUPID AND ALONE AND LIKE I WASTED A BETTER PART OF MY_

She slams the laptop shut. Caps lock. It’s never good news when she breaks the caps lock out.

 

Wine? Is it time for that wine yet?

 

Iris all but runs across her small apartment to her kitchen. This was easily the worst assignment she’d ever been handed. When she moved back home to Central City after years of working as a reporter a few towns over, she didn’t expect to get high-profile investigative stories handed to her right away. No matter how good she was at her old job, and no matter how good they knew she was here, order was order. Iris knew it’d be only a matter of time before putting in her hours on some crappy local matters, like new speed bumps and the McDonald’s closing because it failed health inspection a third year in a row, were over.

 

But never, did she expect all her years of hard work and student loans to get her landed as a “lifestyle” writer. Seriously, does anyone still read that stuff? How to fill in your eyebrows based on your zodiac sign? Top ten things to buy your boyfriend this holiday season?

 

Honestly, if it were up to her, she’d have never moved back. Sure, she just got brutally dumped after three years and kicked out of their apartment, but she had a job, a life there. But after a full week of not moving from her friend’s couch and surviving on mint chocolate chip ice cream alone, she realized something had to give. It hurt like hell, but dad desperately wanted her home since the minute she left for college eight years ago, so maybe the universe was doing her a favor. This probably wasn’t her place anymore. And she missed her dad’s cooking.

 

So, it’s been six months of her dad’s delicious cooking, but also six months of writing articles on hair color for CCPN and living in a very crappy apartment.

 

She’d been getting by okay so far, she never failed to produce her absolute best writing, no matter how trivial her column seemed, and everyone in the place loved her. She felt closer to a promotion with every smoothie place she recommended.

 

But just last week, her boss walked up to her desk, with that look in his eyes that Iris knew could not have meant anything good, and told her about a new piece he wanted her to work on.

 

“An exposé on falling in love? Mason, that makes absolutely no sense.”

 

“Sure it does, I can see the headline already,” he pushed aside her neatly organized stacks of paper, no longer neatly organized, to sit on the edge of her desk.

 

She leaned back in her chair, “Headline?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me now, West. I know you’ve been dying to write more than those little columns for a while now.”

 

“Yeah, of course, but—”

 

“So, this is perfect,” he slaps down a book in front of her, “ _50 Ways to Say I Love You,_ saw it at a kiosk at the airport. Sounded stupid at first, but it got me thinking about love.”

 

“You were thinking about love?” she mused and he rolled his eyes.

 

“I’m a romantic when I want to be. But right now, I can’t think of anyone better to be our little undercover romantic than you.”

 

Iris picks up the book, runs her fingers over the glossy title on the front, feeling her breath stop short when she reaches that stupid four-letter word.

 

“Honestly, I’m flattered you want me to write something bigger, but you know, I just got out of a really awful breakup, so I’m probably the last person to be romanticizing—”

 

“Even better!” He cuts her off again, his eyes catching hers, “Readers love a good happy ending. They’ll be suckers for seeing your broken little heart get mended,” he says, proud of himself and oblivious to the way Iris feels like she could throw up at the very thought.

 

“What would I even be doing?”

 

“Think of the last time you went on a date that really swept you off your feet, made you feel like you were in one of those black and white movies,” he starts, standing up to face Iris, who is still leaning back skeptically in her chair, “You can’t think of one, right? And no, I’m not picking on you because of your heartbreak—the truth is  _no one can_. Modern romance is nothing like it used to be. It’s kind of depressing, I mean, we’re throwing ‘I love you’s around on snapchat, and tinder for god sake. Where’s the chivalry, the intrigue, the bliss?”

 

“You sound crazy.”

 

“I sound right.”

 

She eyes him, and catches herself slightly nodding. No one needed to convince her that romance was dead.

 

“So, Miss West, I want you to pick a guy, any guy. Or girl. Any girl,” he starts with a little nervous chuckle, “and see if you can make an epic romance happen.”

 

“You want me to get a guy to fall in love with me for a story?”

 

“Yes, and, you’ll do it without ever saying I love you,” he picks the book up again, flips through some pages, ignoring Iris’s dropped jaw and reads, “#12 take my jacket, #45 just because, #31 call me when you get there, #2 I love your smile, c’mon, West, this stuff is rom-com gold.”

 

“You can’t seriously think this will work. I can’t make a guy fall in love by telling him…” she grabs the book back, and reads, “That I saved him a piece of pizza.”

 

“Sounds like love to me?”

 

“Something doesn’t feel right about this, and like I said—”

 

“I know, the break-up. But you gotta stop beating yourself up over him. It was a him, right?” Iris rolls her eyes and nods him on, “I’m just checking,” he laughs, “but really, Wonder-Kid West, I like you. You’re one of the most talented people in here, yeah, you knew that, we all knew that, and if it were up to me we would have started you up much higher, but that’s a conversation for a different day.” She smiles. He continues, “But you’re also just one hell of a person. I haven’t known you for long, sure, but I hate seeing you so bent out of shape over some jerk who obviously didn’t deserve you. You’ve got what it takes kid, you’re going places, not just because of your writing, but because of that stupidly good heart of yours. If I can see that as your grumpy old man editor, the rest of the world, especially a guy that I know is out there waiting to be head over heels for you, will see it too.”

 

She doesn’t really know what to say, she threads a hand through her hair and finds herself looking up with a sad little smile.

 

“Look, I don’t have a lot of the details worked out, but I know you’re smart. You’ll write the hell out of this story. Modern romance and all these ways to say I love you. Maybe it won’t fix that heart of yours, but it’ll be a good read. Trying to figure out if it has really gotten harder to fall in love, or if we’re just going about it the wrong way.”

 

“You make a really good case,” she sighs, spinning in her chair to pick up the book again, “#14 thank you.”

 

“Get to work, West. No more of those stupid columns on nail polish. You write me this, and we’re moving you upstairs, that’s a promise.” He calls over his shoulder as he starts to walk away, waving his hand at her.

 

So here she sits, in her apartment alone on a Friday night, trying to start an article on something she definitely didn’t believe in. It was never going to work. The way her heart was so recently shattered was enough to make her never believe in love again, no matter how many cheesy sayings she read from that book.

 

But there was a desk upstairs with her name on it.  _Upstairs._ Reporting. Back where she belonged.

 

She grabbed her glass and crossed back over to the couch. One more paragraph for the night and she’d call it. Start again tomorrow. Maybe finally get around to picking a guy.

 

_Falling in love today has never been more difficult._

 

She could keep that.

 

_With new advancements in technology, communication has seemingly never been—_

 

A small alert banner pops up on the right corner of her screen.

 

It’s an email from her friend Linda, who didn’t have to leave her awesome position as sports writer because of an asshole ex. She knows she should finish writing first, because it’s bound to be some hilarious cat video, or a link to a dress she doesn’t need that Iris has to talk her out of buying, but something stupid inside her makes her open it.

 

It’s 11:48 pm on a Friday. Sue her. She opens it.

 

“Figured you should see this from me before you heard it anywhere else. Call me if you wanna talk,” is typed out quickly at the top of the email, before there’s a link to a Facebook post.

 

And honestly, does she just have fuck me up written on her forehead or something?

 

Her ex is engaged. Like, the whole popped-the-question, give-the-girl-a-ring kind of engaged. And from the looks of it, she said yes.

 

Iris laughs. That’s the first thing her body manages to do.  _Sucker,_  she thinks, for that poor girl,  _has no idea what she’s getting into_. Okay, the laughing kind of turns hysterical.

 

“Or drown your sorrows in wine and call me tomorrow. Just don’t kill anyone or worse, have anger sex, no matter how hot it sounds. Love you.” finishes Linda’s comment on the email.

 

She slams the laptop shut. Her laugh turns angry. Engaged? She’s barely moved out. He had to have been with her  _and_ this girl at the same time. He had to be. She wouldn’t put cheating past him, not anymore.

 

She stands up and starts to pace. Angry pace.

 

Engaged? Engaged. Engaged! And it’s just then that Iris realizes she’s crying. Also hysterical. She thought she ran out of tears for this jerk. Apparently not.

 

She throws a pillow. It feels good.

 

She feels like an absolute idiot, she’s not so much feeling sorry for herself as she feels angry at herself for actually feeling sad about it. She doesn’t want to be engaged to him. No. She knows that, but still.

 

She paces. Kicks the coffee table. The wine glass shakes.

 

And it’s then, perfect fucking timing, that she sees the  _50 Ways to Say I Love You_  book resting on the couch.

 

Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a shiny diamond ring right? Nothing says ‘screw you, Iris West’ quite like it either.

 

Her hysterical laughing mixed with choked sobs between gasping breaths and pounding anger pacing seems to all be a little much for her to handle with this stupid book in her hands.

 

She threw the pillow, so something inside her thinks it would be a brilliant idea to throw the book as well, straight at the wall behind her couch.

 

She lets out a little whimpering yell, and it’s not until she registers the loud thud of the book hitting the wall that she also hears her wine glass go crash splat crack on the floor.

 

And don’t be fooled, she’s still crying, just, silent tears as she looks at the absolute mess she’s made. (And she’s not just talking about her living room.)

 

She flops onto the couch and tries to figure out how to tell Mason she really needs to write something else. Surely, when she shows him those gorgeous engagement pictures he’ll understand why she absolutely can’t. She’ll write anything else. She’ll go back to just bringing everyone coffee. Anything. She can’t write about falling in love. Love is truly the biggest waste of space she’s ever come across and no one in their right mind would try to find it or write—

 

 _Knock knock knock_ Iris hears the light tap. She furrows her eyebrows and squints at the door. The  _knock knock knock_ comes again. She sits up. It’s not coming from the door. It’s coming from the wall behind her.

 

“Hello? Hey uh – know if this works – had to – to ask if you were oh – sound good and the – so thin?” She hears words in and out, puts the pieces together of the sentence and listens to the sweet, bumbling, nervous voice try to ask her if she’s okay.

 

She sniffles and whispers something along the lines of “I’m okay” even though she knows it’s not true and he definitely can’t hear her.

 

“I know I don’t know you but it sounded bad,” he yells much louder this time, “And in case you didn’t hear me last time,” she can tell how loud he’s trying to yell, “I’m your neighbor, well obviously, and just –  **let me know if everything’s okay**.”

 

And there should be absolutely nothing in the world to make her smile right now, yet, here she is.

 

“I’m okay, thanks,” She yells twice, a little louder on the echo just in case he missed it, “ **I hope I didn’t wake you**.” What was she doing? She didn’t know this guy and she didn’t care because it was absolutely in her right to destroy her apartment in heartbroken rage.

 

“Not at all,  **are you sure**  you’re okay? I’m a CSI, I mean, actually, that sounded more charming and badass in my head, but unless you’re hiding a crime from me right now that fact has nothing to do with you. Sorry, uh, sorry.”

 

She giggles. Iris West does not giggle. Yet.

 

“I’m a writer. I got a little into my work. I’m sorry.”

 

“No I’m sorry, I just—”

 

“I mean I’m the one who should be sorry—”

 

“I’m sorry, it’s—”

 

“Sorry, I—”  Iris shakes her head, and accidentally kicks the book off the couch, right on to the shattered glass, and hopes the walls aren’t  _that_ thin, “You have nothing to apologize for, neighbor of the year,” she sits up to be closer to the wall, “but something tells me you’re not gonna give up, all charming CSI and whatever, so  **thank you**.”

 

“I guess now is not a good time to apologize for all the TV shows I watch at odd hours that I’m now realizing you can definitely hear.”

 

“Did she win?”

 

“What?”

 

“That girl you always cheer for on ‘The Voice’.” She hears him laugh for the first time, and Iris feels so proud of herself for making  _that_ sound happen that she is desperately searching for her funny bone to make it happen again.

 

“I’m sorry. Sorry, no more apologizing, no – I did it again.”

 

And she has the sudden urge to be able to run through the wall and see the smile she can practically hear through the wall.

 

“I’m gonna clean up now, but thank you. I’m sorry we had to meet this way.”

 

“I kind of liked it actually.”

 

And Iris has absolutely no way of yelling back in the state she’s in right now, all giggly over some dude’s voice, so she taps the wall twice in some kind of goodbye and picks up the book.

 

She’ll write in the morning.

 

* * *

 

“Your eyes aren’t puffy. Why aren’t your eyes puffy?”

 

“Why should they be?” Iris sits down at their table in the back corner of Jitters, placing two cups of coffee down, one with milk and sugar, one black.

 

“Do you need me to say it?”

 

Iris shakes her head and sips. She watches her best friend sip his coffee and wince.

 

“Dude, I don’t know why you drink that,” she motions towards his black coffee.

 

“Wakes me up, you know I can’t listen to Snow’s voice without at least 8 ounces of caffeine… and earplugs,” he says as Iris laughs, and sips again, but continues with a knowing look, “But stop deflecting, West. I know you. You know I know you. So I’m not even asking if you’re okay because I know you’re not.”

 

Iris had met Cisco in middle school. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to print her paper for English class in the library one day and Cisco, kind of impatiently waiting in line for its use, very quickly figured out it wasn’t working because it wasn’t turned on. Iris was mortified, but all she remembers is how he made her laugh. And they’d been inseparable ever since. I mean, until she left for college and an asshole boyfriend (that Cisco has since been reminding her, that he  _never_ liked). But they had called each other at least once a day, and when she thought about leaving after being dumped, she couldn’t think of any place better than the town she grew up in. I mean, her dad, jitters, Cisco. What more could she ask for, right? She all of a sudden realized how much she hated leaving in the first place.

 

They came to Jitters almost every day, every other day at the least, just like high school, hell, they basically owned this very table. Would usually walk to work together. It’s actually thanks to Cisco, CCPN’s head of technology, that she got an interview at the place. And despite his all-knowing tone about her deteriorating mental and emotional state, she still finds herself laughing at Cisco’s long-standing feud with Caitlin Snow, the paper’s HR staff person, who lead weekly team meetings.

 

“Well 1) be nice to Caitlin, she just wants us to be happy, and 2) if you know I’m not okay, then why are you asking about my not-puffy eyes?”

 

“Because the Iris I know, even the almighty badass that she is, is a crier. And something about this situation seems to me like it warrants a good 6 days of sobbing. At least,” he looks at her sadly.

 

“Well, jerkface asshat doesn’t really deserve my tears anymore, right? I think I ran out after the initial heartbreak.”

 

“Don’t I know it,” Cisco leans back in his chair, and Iris recalls spending at least a week at his place when she first moved back simultaneously ranting, crying, and stress eating around his place before she found an apartment of her own, “But really, we can talk about it—”

 

“No need. I kind of overreacted when I first heard, had a slight wine glass casualty. But that was probably all I needed to get my rage out,” Iris peeks up at him over her mug, and slightly adds, in a sheepish whisper, “and totally embarrassed myself with the hot neighbor.”

 

“Excuse, me? What?” Cisco turns his head, hand cupped behind an ear and a devilish smirk on his face, “Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to repeat that. Hot neighbor, who?”

 

“Shut up,” She swats at him, looking around, as if he’d be there.

 

It has been about a week since she found out about her ex’s engagement, so also a week since her little conversation with the guy next door. She had never been the neighborly kind, didn’t really know anyone in the building, so it didn’t surprise her that she had no idea who this guy was, what he looked like, his name, nothing. But she found herself desperately  _wanting_  to know all of a sudden, to know everything about him.

 

About 2 days ago, she got her wish. Because she was coming home from work at night, on the phone with her dad because he hated when she walked home alone at night, cop thing or whatever, and wouldn’t hang up until she was inside, and using a hand to fumble through her purse for her key. She tucked her phone between her ear and her shoulder, still searching for the key, with no luck, when for the first time in all her months living here, of course, the hot neighbor decides to get home at the  _same. exact. time._

 

And she stresses hot, because yeah, she’d never seen him before, but now that she was looking up at him under her long lashes, yelling something at her dad while looking for her keys, she would never been able to not see this guy and just wanna. Yeah. You know what.

 

I mean, did any girls look at him and  _not_ imagine what those abs looked like without a cute little button up shirt and bowtie on it. Because like, it was all kinds of levels of attractive on, and she just can’t un-see the mental image she’s made of what it would look like off.

 

She is acutely aware of the very unattractive face she’s making though, still frustrated to no end that her dad still treats her like a teenager and that her key chose now to just magically disappear in her black hole of a purse.

 

But holy hell, all he does is flash this  **million watt smile**  at her.

 

She could write a full front-page story on that smirk alone.

 

Iris feels like she could die. We’ve established he’s hot, right, but all of a sudden, she sees him being that sweet, bumbling, nervous kid yelling at her through the wall. He looks at her, at his door, back at her, and she can tell he’s nervous (what in the world could make a guy this good-looking nervous?), like he isn’t really sure of himself and he’s having trouble forming a sentence.

 

So she smiles back.

 

He giggles. Iris feels like if she could only hear one sound for the rest of her life, that would be her pick.

 

He strides over quickly, shoving one hand in a pocket and using the other to nervously scratch behind his neck, “You  **need any help?** ”

 

Iris also forgets how to form a sentence for a second. Guy even  _smells good._  For real? Is there a flaw? His smile literally twinkles.

 

“I just can’t find my key, and my dad’s on the phone, and I’ve had a long day…” she trails, thinking about all the sad looks coworkers sent her all day after someone let news about her ex spread.

 

The right corner of his mouth quirks up a little and he holds out a hand, “ **I’ll get it for you.** ”

 

Iris hands him the phone.

 

I mean, stupid, is the only word she can think to describe it. He obviously wasn’t asking for the phone, he wanted her bag, to help look for the key, because why would he want to talk to a girl he’s never met’s dad close to midnight on a Wednesday. Just. Stupid.

 

He takes it though, seems a little confused, and she can’t take it back now, because something about that little smirk he can’t wipe off his face makes Iris incapable of saying anything else. So, he puts the phone up to his ear so Iris can look for her key.

 

“Hey, uh, hi. No no no, I’m juts your daughter’s neighbor, she was having trouble finding her key, so I wanted to help her, get a free hand to look, or, wait—yeah, I’m—Joe West! Yeah, it’s Barry. What a small world.”

 

Iris feels like she could throw up. Or kiss him. She doesn’t know.

 

“Yeah, 34B. I moved in about 2 years ago. No, yeah, it’s no five star hotel, but it does the job. … yeah … of course … and I left those prints you needed on your desk … just doing my job, sir, … okay … have a goodnight, bye.” Barry (she has learned, is his name, apparently), hangs up the phone and nods at her, “Your dad said goodnight.”

 

“Thanks,” Iris mumbles, and finally, with key in hand, opens her door, “You know my dad?”

 

“CCPD, you know, sometimes I think I’m hallucinating the smell of his lasagna in the air when I get really hungry, but I guess not.”

 

“You’ve had his lasagna too, oh god, this just keeps getting worse for me,” Iris shakes her head, feeling her cheeks heat up.

 

“No, no, Joe’s one of the best guys I’ve ever met. I’ve been… going through some stuff, he would bring me some leftovers when he knew I wasn’t eating.”

 

“Sounds like dad.”

 

“And I’m late for just about everything, which is the worst when you’re supposed to be at crime scenes, you know, helping solve crime, and he always covers for me. I’d be broke, jobless, and hungry without him,” He says, with a laugh, then he bites his lip (Iris,  _pull yourself together_  girl), and adds, “Which is, of course, the last thing you want to be talking to me about, your dad. Wow. Okay. Here I was thinking I wasn’t being an idiot for once, yeah, I’m really good at talking to pretty girls, if you couldn’t already tell.”

 

“You’re lucky I am just as bad at talking to pretty boys.”

 

“Oh really?” he says, looks around the hallway, stands on his toes to look up behind her, “I didn’t notice any of those.”

 

It’s her turn to giggle.

 

“I’m sorry, I should probably ask your name before I further make a fool of myself,” He says, biting his lip nervously again.

 

“I’m Iris,” she says.

 

“Iris,” he says, like it’s the most beautiful secret anyone’s ever told him, and he doesn’t wanna give it to anyone else now that he has it, “I’m Barry Allen, we’ve gotta stop meeting like this.” He holds out a hand. She shakes it.

 

And she’d be crazy to say it doesn’t feel like a thunderstorm erupts, lightning and all, right between their fingertips right there.

 

“ **I don’t mind**.”

 

“Well, that’s good, because I may or may not have just promised your dad that I’d  **make sure you safely got home every night**.”

 

“Oh god,” she throws her head back, “I’m gonna kill him.”

 

“He’s just looking out for you, although I hope he knows I would break all my limbs if I had to fight someone off of you.”

 

She laughs, “Don’t worry, I think that smile of yours could blind anyone who comes within a 3-foot-radius.”

 

“Yeah?” he says, and suddenly, shoots her a tight-lipped grimace, a silly, stony look on his face, “I’d like to keep your eyesight in tact then.”

 

“I’d risk it.”

 

“I don’t wanna keep you up any later, long day, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Just, gimme two knocks when you get inside, okay?”

 

“You don’t have to…”

 

“I think we both know, we’re not messing with Joe West.”

 

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” she smiles, one hand on her door, “two knocks.”

 

He throws up two fingers, like a little peace sign, and puts his left hand in his pocket as he backs up towards his door, still shooting her that happy little smirk.

 

Iris all but collapses against the back of the door when she gets inside. She shakes her head.

 

And she feels like a little girl with a crush when she jumps on her couch and knocks on the wall twice. She hears a familiar  _knock knock knock_ back.

 

And she likes that she can visualize the exact smile that comes with it this time.

 

And while this whole story makes her stomach do a weird little twist as she thinks about it, all she can think to tell Cisco that morning at Jitters is, “It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s not nothing, look at that little face your making, Iris West,” Cisco laughs. “C’mon, how embarrassing are we talking, and how hot are we talking?” he wiggles his eyebrows and iris kicks him under the table.

 

“Scale of 1 to 10, both are at an 11.”

 

“Hard to believe either. Because you’re you, and well, I’m an 11, and there’s no way you could have met a guy that’s anywhere near all of this,” he flourishes a hand down his body, making Iris laugh, but then his proud little gesture makes his coffee spill, and Iris is no longer laughing. Okay. Maybe a little.

 

“I’m going to get us some napkins, you get a 2 for being smooth,” she stands up as he smiles with a shrug.

 

She walks up to the counter, still laughing a little to herself, not really paying attention, when she feels someone reach for the napkins at the same time as her, and dammit, there’s that lightning again.

 

She looks up, her hand still touching the napkins, pinkies practically linked with the mystery hand, which she discovers is not much of a mystery.

 

“Uh,  **you first** , miss.” Hot neighbor lightly lifts his hand from the napkins and looks at her, no wait, is she imagining, was that a… wink?

 

Her stomach is in knots.

 

She somehow, in her dreamy haze, manages to grab some napkins, still not really taking her eyes off him, then whispers a little, “Thank you.”

 

“No problem, us neighbors gotta  **look out for each other**.”

 

Iris can’t help this stupid smile that spreads across her face. She then does something even stupider. She grabs two packets of sugar next to the napkins and holds them out to Barry.

 

He’s still smiling a smile that Iris feels doesn’t look nearly as stupid on him as it feels on her, but scrunches his eyebrows at the sugars she’s holding out for him.

 

“ **It’s two sugars, right?** ” She says, barely above a whisper. She feels silly for even trying it, but she seems to only be able to do silly things around this guy.

 

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” He nods, taking them from her. Lightning.

 

“It’s just, uh, my dad has mentioned, sometimes, picking up coffee for guys at work, and I uh, just assumed, you had to be the CSI he has mentioned, two sugars in your coffee.”

 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he chuckles, and motions towards the 3 other cups on the counter, “My day on coffee duty today. But, uh, how’d you remember that?”

 

“I take mine the same way.”

 

“Milk and two sugars.”

 

“The best.” She smirks, and feels infinitely lighter.

 

“The guys do make fun of me for it, a girly order.”

 

“Yeah well, macho guys who think they need to drink black coffee are the worst. Anyone who says it actually tastes good is lying.” She smirks back at Cisco.

 

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” she notices his eyes twinkle like his smile sometimes does, his smile so big now that it seems his eyes have to squint to make room for a smile that wide. Holy shit, she’s in for it with this guy. She tries to snap out of it, because, you know, heartbreak, and not believing in guys except for her dad and Cisco anymore, but… That smile is objectively heart-melting.

 

“Well, as you could have guessed, I’m already late.”

 

“Right, you should go,  **see you later**.”

 

“Two knocks tonight, don’t forget, West.”

 

“Two knocks, Allen.”

 

Iris spins around, her hair flipping over her shoulder, and knows she’s sporting the cheesiest smile as she walks back to their table.

 

“Don’t tell me that was him,” Cisco smirks as she sits down.

 

“What? How did you—”

 

“I told you, I know you. And let me just be clear… you are a liar.”

 

She quirks an eyebrow up at him.

 

“He’s a 12. Definitely a 12.”

 

She laughs and throws a napkin at him. And knows he’s definitely not wrong.

 

* * *

 

Iris feels like she could be doing a worse job on the article. Probably could be doing better on it too. But, baby steps, right?

 

Mason’s idea of picking a guy and conning him into falling in love with her for a story sounds kind of cruel, and that’s coming from her, with a heart of literal stone after her last shit show of a relationship.

 

It’s no surprise she’s felt a little uninspired about this project since the start, but she knows people were expecting a little more for her. She expects more of herself. She wants that seat upstairs, goddammit.

 

Cisco truly believes that if her lovesick puppy act from the Jitters a few weeks ago was anything to judge by, she could have this article written and winning prizes in minutes. Iris refrains from punching him a few times. Yes. Hot neighbor was hot, but, hot didn’t mean she could just whip out her  _50 Ways to Say I Love You_  book and consider them hitched.

 

She really hadn’t even looked at the book since that first week of working on the article. It felt silly. Juvenile. Like some scam they sell for dumb boyfriends to use to get girlfriends to have sex with them. Because girls love emotions, or so the stereotype goes.

 

She was talking to Linda one day when she realized that if she wanted this article to promote her back to reporting, she’d have to show them what she could do. So, she treated it like a case, a news story. She researched and interviewed and drafted on anything love-related she could think of. Boys and girls and dating apps and social media companies and store owners and hell, even some employees at Jitters. It felt good. But she did know something was missing.

 

Cisco would just wiggle his eyebrows if he saw her now, practically blushing just  _thinking_ about him. Quit it, Iris, you have an ex to hate. An ex that makes you hate the idea of love.

 

She’d been seeing a lot more of Barry. It feels very crazy that after living there for so long she had never met him and now all of a sudden, she couldn’t stop running into him. Not that she was complaining. Especially those days he wore those pants. The tight gray dress pants. With the tucked in shirt. And the bowtie just felt like a slap in the face.

 

And it wasn’t even just in the apartment. Sure, she caught him running up the stars while she was going down, or walking to her apartment when he was just leaving his, or  **he’d hold the door for her**  an extra thirty-seconds when he saw her running towards him, late for one of Caitlin’s HR team builders. But she also saw him everywhere else. Jitters. Just passing him on her way to work. Going to grab lunch with her dad. Getting breakfast. At the grocery store. It was almost comical. And she always ended every night with a little  _knock knock_  on the wall behind her couch.

 

“The universe is trying to tell you something,” she could hear Cisco’s voice in her head when she plops down on her couch one Saturday night.

 

She liked to think they were friends. Friends knock on the walls of their other friends to make sure they got home alright. Friends know the other’s coffee order, even if it’s identical. Friends hold doors and friends find stupid excuses to hold your hand and friends spend an extra 20 minutes outside their apartment at night just so they don’t have to be the first to stop talking.

 

It is in the middle of her little daydream that a  _knock knock knock_ snaps her out of it. Speak of the devil.

 

“ **Did you get my note?** ” she hears him yell through the wall. She shakes her head and yells back a “I don’t think so,” because she doesn’t really know what she’s talking about.

 

She does see Barry everywhere, but this has been an especially long stretch of time that they have really only brushed past each other, haven’t talked. It’s kind of killing her. But she doesn’t know of whatever note he’s talking about.

 

“I slid one under your door this morning.”

 

She stands up and walks towards her door, crouches down when she sees the little slip of paper she must have stepped right over walking in before.   It’s no wonder she missed it: small, white, nondescript, scraggly little black-inked handwriting on one side.

 

And, shit, she’s become a giggler, he left her his  _number_.

 

_In case you ever wanna hear my voice not through a wall._

 

She literally cannot get to her phone to dial him fast enough.

 

“Well, I take it you found the note?”

 

“Was it too soon?” she suddenly feels very exposed and kind of like that lovesick puppy Cisco keeps telling her she is, “I told you, I’m bad at dealing with pretty boys.”

 

“No, no, not at all. Speed has always been a problem of mine. Truthfully, I might have gone crazy waiting any longer. I’ve been nervous all day.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, it’s not every day that I leave a pretty girl my number. Never one as pretty as you.”

 

“Oh please, I’m not that pretty.”

 

“ **You’re beautiful**.” He states like it’s a fact you just grow up knowing, like that the sky is blue and A is the first letter of the alphabet and Iris West is beautiful, “And way out of my league, if you didn’t notice,” she hears him laugh and she feels like melting, “I mean, guys who wear bowties don’t really end up on the phone with girls like you.”

 

“I don’t plan on hanging up on you anytime soon.”

 

He seems to scoff as if she’s just saying that to be nice, little does he know she hasn’t talked on the phone twirling a lock of her hair around her finger and kicking her legs in the air like this since her 7th grade crush on this boy in her gym class. Does she have a crush on Barry Allen? She’ll never admit it.

 

“I actually tried to put a tie on the other day, just  **to impress you** , you know, fancy reporter and all that you are, probably run into guys in ties all the time.”

 

“I really like your bowties. Please don’t ever stop wearing them.”

 

“They’re nerdy.”

 

“They…” make me wanna rip your clothes off and make out with you until we’re both out of breath? Probably shouldn’t lead with that, “they look really good. Trust me. Especially that bluish green.  **Brings out your eyes**.”

 

“Well, I’m glad, because trying to put the tie on was actually dreadful. I’m very glad you didn’t see it.”

 

“Barry Allen, I have yet to find a single dreadful thing about you, I doubt your tie could change it.” She hears him wince through his teeth and she laughs.

 

“So, I hope you called for a reason other than to hear me embarrass myself.”

 

She shakes her head, can’t stop the word vomit before she confesses, “I just,  **missed your voice**.”

 

“Really?”

 

“It’s like a lullaby.”

 

“My high school drama teacher would argue with that.”

 

“Oh god, a theater kid?”

 

“Look, I realize that’s a fact that I should keep hidden, but you were gonna find out eventually and if we have to end this now, I figure I should just rip the band-aid off.”

 

“No, no, now I’m intrigued, why have you never sung for me?”

 

“You see, Iris, I’m doing this thing where I’m trying to get you to  _like me_.”

 

She flips onto her back, swinging her legs over the end of the couch and god help her, giggles again.

 

“Who said I didn’t already like you?”

 

“This would be… an interesting development…”

 

“I mean, no promises, I’m just saying…”

 

“C’mon, please don’t leave me hanging like this. I’m a bow-tie-wearing, ex-musical theater science nerd. We don’t really get things like this too often.”

 

“At least buy me dinner first.”

 

“For real?” she hears the little excitement in his voice, like,  _holy shit is this girl really talking to me, little Barry Allen,_  and Iris doesn’t even realize what she’s said because she can’t really think straight with this guy and it just felt like the exact right thing to say because she meant it, she wanted to have dinner with Barry Allen, like a million dinners with Barry Allen, and just listen to his sweet, stumbling, nervous voice on loop for every second she was awake. And maybe in her dreams too.

 

But “Yeah,” is all she can manage to muster out of that.

 

“Cool.”

 

“You better wear a bowtie.”

 

“Funny that you think I’m not running to my closet to get it right now. Just to be ready.”

 

“ **You’re very cute** , Barry Allen, you know that?”

 

“I thought I might be,” he chuckles, “Well, if you can’t say it, then I sure as hell can,  **I like you**  Iris. I like you a whole lot,” Iris kind of stops breathing, “And just to be clear, it’s the kind of like you where I just really wish I was holding your hand right now. Unless, you might maybe like me like something else, like the last kid you pick for your dodgeball team just because he looks sad and you know he can at least throw a little better than Johnny Michaels.”

 

“Well, just to be clear, I would pick you over Johnny Michaels for my team any day, that killer smile of yours, remember?” She sits up and looks at the wall, as if she can somehow make said smile appear through it, “But I am very upset that we’re not holding hands right now.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Do you not believe me?

 

“Like I said, I’m not really used to this, you’re way too beautiful to be having this conversation with me right now.”

 

“Next time I see you, I’m grabbing that little hand of yours and holding it, you hear me, Allen?”

 

“My hands are kind of big, I’ve got like, giraffe necks for fingers—” Iris knows he can hear this laugh she lets out now through the wall. “But  **I look forward to it**.”

 

“Don’t think I forgot about you singing for me, either.”

 

“I’m going to think of like a million different things I can do to distract you from that fact next time I talk to you.” And well, Iris can definitely think of a few of her own.

 

“This is where I leave you, sir. Got an early morning.”

 

“Right, of course. Thanks for calling.”

 

“My pleasure.”

 

“Well, goodnight Iris.

 

“ **Sweet dreams** , Barry.” And she has no idea how she falls asleep that night, the way her whole body is buzzing.

 

She makes it two whole days without seeing him again, but texting him kind of nonstop, which feels like a very cruel joke now, considering she had just resigned herself to crushing on the guy, and now all of a sudden, the universe decided they don’t have to see each other all the time any more.

 

She gets a little more of her article written in the time that it takes before she runs into Barry again, not much, but enough to almost have enough to send to Mason as a first draft. She still isn’t her most proud of it, but she’s been feeling a little more inspired lately.

 

She comes home after dinner with her dad and brother, who’s in town for the weekend, one night, and sees a familiar hot neighbor sitting down between her door and his, back up against the wall, chest rising and falling slightly, like if Iris didn’t know any better she’d say he was… sleeping? Barry Allen was scrunched up, all long limbs tucked into a ball,  _sleeping_  outside his apartment.

 

Iris steps up to him quickly and bends to look at him, eye level. Fuck, he’s even pretty when he sleeps. She doesn’t wanna disturb this beautiful, peaceful image at all, but she wants to get his long lanky body off this cold hard floor. She musters up a lot of courage and lightly taps on the top of one of his knees.

 

He blinks his eyes open, looks to his left, to his right, down at  **his hand that is holding onto Iris’s**.

 

She smiles. She doesn’t break a promise, right? Had to hold this giraffe-like hand of his.

 

“Hey there, sleepy.”

 

“Hi, sorry, I got locked out of my apartment. I left my key in my lab, which I am also currently locked out of. And it’s already so late I figured I could just…”  _yawn_ “…wait until the first guys got to the station after the night shift, so they could open it for me, and I didn’t wanna …”  _yawn_ “bother anyone this late to open my apartment up so I tried to watch Netflix on my phone to stay awake until then, but then my phone died and…” he trails off with a little sigh.

 

“Well, good thing you said your phone was dead, because I was about to yell at you for not calling me about this. But I guess I can forgive you if you couldn’t call me.”

 

“ **I didn’t wanna bother you**. You were with your brother.”

 

“Yeah, you remember that? I mentioned it like, once, yesterday.”

 

“I find it very hard to do anything but  **listen very intently when you’re talking to me**.”

 

She shakes her head, this man, she swears, will be the death of her, he’s like a Hallmark card inside a ridiculously attractive human. She shakes their interlocked hands a little then stands. Barry doesn’t move.

 

“You coming?”

 

“What?”

 

“Well, I am not letting you go through with that ridiculous plan to go back to CCPD like this. You’re coming in. At least take a little nap on my couch before you do anything stupid,” Iris grabs her key from her pocket and starts to open the door, while Barry tentatively stands.

 

“Honestly, at risk of sounding like a douche, this was not how I imagined first being invited into your apartment,” He does that nervous giggle again, the one that Iris plays on loop for hours after every time he does it, then stands behind her as she turns the key, “I mean, at least let me buy you dinner first.”

 

They’re still holding hands, Iris is very aware of that fact because he keeps rubbing little circles with his thumb, which is truly unfair because she’s about to lose every ounce of self-control she’s ever had. All over just holding hands, I mean, she hasn’t felt like this since, since… actually, she doesn’t think she’s ever felt like this. And that should probably tell her something.

 

But it’s really late and all she can think about is trying to find a way to sit next to Barry on her couch. Because like. It’s a small couch. And maybe they’ll bump knees or something and she’ll feel more lightning if she’s lucky.

 

Good god, she’s lost it.

 

“So, this is the Iris West abode,” He marvels as he looks around the small apartment.

 

“Please don’t make fun, I don’t have a creative bone in my body. I hate HGTV.”

 

“Not even  _Fixer Upper_?”

 

“Sometimes  _Fixer Upper_.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything. It’s really nice in here. I think I still have half my stuff in boxes. And I’ve been here a few years.”

 

“Do you want anything? Like water or I have some left-over pizza, I think, or, beer is like a guy thing, right?”

 

“No, I’m good. Not really a beer guy. Or alcohol in general,” Oh god, now he thinks she was trying to get him drunk.

 

“Good, because I don’t have any beer, just felt like something I had to offer.” She has let go of his hand for the first time to pace nervously from her couch to her kitchen and back. Barry is standing near the door still. She looks at the couch as if to tell him,  _please, please sit._ He obliges.

 

“But, uh, I do love a cold piece of leftover pizza. If you’re offering.” Iris smiles. Her kind of guy.

 

“Amazing,” she runs into the kitchen and is back with the box in a mere matter of seconds, “My ex was such a snob, he would only eat pizza hot.”

 

“It’s so much better this way,” Barry says, grabbing a slice.

 

“Objectively!” Iris yells between bites.

 

She catches him staring at her a little, with the softest eyes she’s ever seen, and even though his grin is softer too, his face doesn’t seem any less bright.

 

She quirks an eyebrow up.

 

He blushes, actually blushes, which drives Iris nuts, when he seems to realize she caught his gaze, but then he shakes his head and starts to explain, “I don’t wanna start anything, especially since you know, I just got to hold your hand for like a pretty good amount of time and I really wanna hold it again, but I just noticed. Like, every time you bring up your ex you look like you were punched in the gut. And it kills me, because honestly anyone who can make you feel like that when he’s not even around deserves like, infinite black eyes or something.”

 

Iris shrugs a little, “Sorry.” But Barry shakes his head like she’s got it all wrong.

 

“No, no. It’s just, this was the first time you said anything where, you looked really happy. Like it didn’t hurt so much. And that made me happy. Because  **I want you to be happy** ,” he says sheepishly, and Iris doesn’t even notice she’d been feeling like that, but once he says it, she realizes how right he is. She recognizes the tight scowl she puts on anytime she brings him up, yet, she hasn’t stopped smiling since she walked in the door tonight. And it feels amazing.

 

“Also,” Barry starts, “I really didn’t want to have to be the one to give him that black eye. Because I’d probably break a few bones.” Iris tilts her head and laughs. “Though I would do it in a heartbeat,” he adds.

 

“My very own superman.”

 

“Ah, Superman, really?”

 

“What? You got something against Superman?”

 

“No, no. Love the guy, actually. Just, I dunno. I don’t think I’m the Superman type.”

 

She looks into those pretty, squinty-smile eyes of his, and realizes, she likes him a whole lot more than she ever realized. A whole lot more than he’ll ever believe she does, Mr. ‘you’re-so-out-of-my-league’.

 

“Well, I think just being my Barry Allen will work.”

 

She faintly remembers turning the TV on at some point, and maybe scooting closer to him on the couch, and something prompting him to swing an arm around the top of the couch, and his fingers being so close to her shoulder that she couldn’t help it if she just reached a little and started playing with his fingers in her own, and talking for a good while, forgetting the TV was on the first place, and maybe she tucked her head into his shoulder, and it just so happened that they fell asleep like that. Maybe.

 

She sleeps on the couch the next three nights in a row until the pillows don’t smell like him anymore. And she makes a mental note to steal a sweatshirt or something next time. That has to hold his cologne for a week, at least.

 

* * *

 

“You like him?”

 

“Do you?”

 

“I asked you first,” Iris looks up at her dad, standing by his desk inside CCPD a few weeks later.

 

“You know I love the kid. Now, stop avoiding my question.”

 

“I do. I like him.”

 

“The fact that you did that so quickly tells me you obviously like him a little more than that. Otherwise you’d keep avoiding.”

 

“Why do you have to go all cop on me all the time.”

 

“Oh no, this is just a regular old father-daughter investigation,” Joe West chuckles as he pats his daughter on the shoulder, both of them looking a few feet away where Cisco and Barry stand in the doorway to the lobby, both very animatedly talk about something science-y that neither of the Wests would ever understand.

 

“Well, let’s just say I’m really glad both of my two favorite guys like him.”

 

Iris knows she’s not getting out of this one easily. Her dad isn’t wrong. But neither is she. She does like him. But if she’s leaving out the kind of “like-him” where  **he kisses her softly**  before she heads into her apartment, the kind where  **he buys her flowers**  one day, just knocks on her door and decided she’s going to take the flowers and he’s going to take her to dinner, the kind where she literally dreams about having him kiss her places other than her lips, but he’s way too much a of a gentleman for that yet, the kind where she will listen to him talk on the phone about anything, anything at all in the world, until she falls asleep, and calls him back immediately in the morning so that she can be the first thing he hears… well if she’s leaving those things out when her dad asks if she likes him, who would blame her, right?

 

“I’m gonna tell Wally you said that.”

 

“Go right ahead.”

 

“I still can’t believe your old man had to invite him to your birthday dinner before you did.” Iris recalls getting  _that_  call from Barry one night— Her dad had been talking to Barry one day, and she has no idea what prompted him to think this was a thing he could do, but he asked him if he’d ever been to the restaurant they were going to for Iris’ birthday on Friday, to which Barry said, obviously, he didn’t know what he was talking about, and her dad, of course, thought that was preposterous, because surely this guy who has his baby girl so smitten lately would be invited to the birthday dinner, and why on earth would Iris not tell him that, so Barry just shrugged, but then had to call Iris immediately and yell at her for not telling him it was her birthday. She just didn’t really like her birthday that much, never saw the appeal, and didn’t wanna make it a thing. So, she didn’t lie, she actively avoided. Obviously.

 

“Still a little mad you did that.”

 

“What, I thought we  _like_ him?”

 

“We do.”

 

“So?”

 

“So…” she starts, and looks at the way Barry laughs at something Cisco says, the two of them looking like they could jump up and down from excitement, and maybe that sight, coupled with the way he squeezed her hand when she showed up at the station, and the way his Dad looked at him like his million-watt smile was the sun itself, prompted her to add, “Thank you. I guess.”

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” He smiles and she shrugs into his sideways hug, “You know that boy would have wanted a good two-weeks to pick out the perfect present for you.”

 

“Please tell me you didn’t give him any ideas, I don’t even want anything from him,” Iris says, exasperatedly.

 

“He doesn’t need my help,” Joe laughs, “C’mon I’m starving.”

 

“Why were you never this nice about any other guys I brought to birthday dinner.”

 

“Because, Iris,” he looked between Barry and then down to iris, “I think you and I both know there is no one quite like Barry Allen.”

 

And yeah, her dad was right. Usually is. Though she’d never tell him that.

 

Dinner is good. They go to this fancy Italian place a few blocks from work that just opened, and no one embarrasses her, so that’s a good sign. Dad doesn’t interrogate Barry, and neither does Cisco, which could almost be more frightening. No one makes them uncomfortable about whatever this thing is they have, no one really treats him like a boy iris brought to dinner. It’s like, he just fit right in, like a piece of the puzzle they’ve always been waiting for. And that is all Iris has ever wanted.

 

Iris hugs her dad a tight goodbye, ignoring the funny way his voice goes up when he tells her to have a good night, and stops to smirk at Cisco before bidding him adieu, his apartment the other direction from hers and Barry’s.

 

“What’s with that face, Ramon?”

 

“Nothing…” He gives her a crooked smirk, and luckily Barry is talking to Joe about something, as Iris steps closer to Cisco.

 

“You don’t just make that face at me for no reason.”

 

“You’ll hit me if I say.”

 

“Is it something inappropriate, because I swear, I have barely even kissed—”

 

“You two kissed?” Cisco feigns a mock gasp and iris swats him on the shoulder.

 

“Shut up.  **He took me to dinner**  first. Twice actually.”

 

“Well don’t leave me hanging, that could not have been it, I mean, I’m not blind.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Iris huffs.

 

“Dude has serious heart eyes for you, West. And you’re never going to admit it, but as your best friend in the universe, I can say, you’ve got some heart eyes too.”

 

“I think I would have rathered something inappropriate.”

 

“What did Mason say about draft one of the article, again?” Cisco asked, all smug and knowing. Of course she had called him first crying when she basically had it ripped up in front of her face.

 

“It sucked. And it only got slightly better towards the end,” she repeated the words she had heard from Mason last week.

 

“And you wrote the end right after…”

 

“Right after I met Barry. I know, I know,” she waved him off and looked back at the man in question.

 

“If I remember correctly, he said it needed more emotion, that he didn’t want to read raw data.”

 

“Which is like, the opposite of good writing to me, the more objective the better.”

 

“You know this piece is an exception,” Cisco grabbed her hand, “Look, you know yourself. But as we’ve established, so do I. Mason wants you to see if love exists, and you and wonder boy over there are living breathing proof that it does. I know it.”

 

“You’re just saying that because you like him.”

 

“I’m keeping that dude as my best friend no matter what, even if you break his adorable little heart. Guy is awesome. But I don’t think you want to break his heart,” he says, and iris nods.

 

Stupid boy has her heart right in his hands.

 

“I just don’t think I have this big magical thing with him that everyone is saying I do.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why do you think he doesn’t love you like he obviously does? Why do you think you don’t deserve it?”

 

“Because he doesn’t deserve me,” iris says softly, “I am not someone he should be in love with. He deserves someone so much better. I  _just_  stopped crying thinking about my ex. I could break down at any moment. You think I really have it in me to tell him I love him?” She huffs, then softens, “That kid is way too good for me. He has all the happiness and joy and wonder in the world wrapped up in that long, lanky, adorable body of his and I am very bad at relationships.”

 

“You don’t have to tell him you love him, just, try to understand that you could be the worst, most awful person on the planet, which I know you’re not, but you could be, and that kid would still look at you like you make the world spin. And he’s a scientist so we know he knows the actual reason.”

 

Iris shakes her head and hugs Cisco before starting to walk away, “You know there’s a lot of ways to know someone loves you. Not just those three words, right? I want to see the next draft of that article.” He waves as he backs up.

 

Her dad claps Barry on the back, which, his little lanky body looks all shaken out of sorts from, then he waves the pair good bye before starting away in Cisco’s direction.

 

“Iris, I swear to god, I’m the only parent who has to beg his kid to hold a guy’s hand. You better hold it the whole way home!” He yells over his shoulder before they can’t see him anymore, and Iris just laughs as she peeks up at Barry.

 

“Well, joke’s on him. I was gonna do it anyway,” then she grabs his hand and with a little swing, starts to walk home.

 

It feels really easy, and beautiful, and whole.

 

She thinks about her dad and Cisco, and she knew everything they were saying was right. Being whatever this was with Barry for the past few months, it was honestly the happiest she’d been in a very long time, maybe ever. And even though she was very resistant, because she didn’t want Barry being some lame rebound, something about this felt good, too good to be true.

 

It was crazy, she thought she’d never be able to shake those three years of terrible, horrible memories of her ex thanks to heartbreak, but for every memory she had with him, Barry did it ten times better, like it wiped the memory and inserted itself in its place.

 

Just like that night with the pizza. When she thought of pizza, she thought of the way Barry got sauce on the corner of his mouth, the way she heard him stop breathing when she wiped it off for him. Or all the times she’d go grocery shopping alone for her and her ex, now Barry practically begged to go with her, and if she ever went alone, the only feeling she’d remember is the giggle she let out when he pushed her down the cake mix isle on her cart.

 

Or her favorite re-do memory, the feeling of getting a goodnight kiss, which she was really hoping to get as they reached her door tonight, however, it seemed Barry had a different idea.

 

“ **I have a present for you** ,” he smirked.

 

“I told you I didn’t want anything!” She half yells, half laughs.

 

“Well, I didn’t listen, c’mon,” he nudges his head towards his door, and Iris hates the little feeling of excitement she has as she walks towards his door. But she also kind of loves it.

 

He quickly turns his key in the door and swings the door open, “After you.”

 

She steps inside and twists to face him, standing in the doorway, “So, you  _do_  like  _Fixer Upper.”_

“Make fun all you want, that couch is both stylish, and the comfiest thing you’ll ever sit on.”

 

“Comfier than mine?”

 

He shrugs, as if to say  _game on,_  then drapes his coat over a chair.

 

“Well, I think I’ll just have to be the judge of that,” she smiles at him as he starts to walk towards a room, his bedroom she guesses, and jumps onto his couch, legs reaching one end and snuggling into a pillow on the other. “Okay, you win!” She yells.

 

“What was that?” he yells, coming back towards her, holding something behind his back, “Did you say, I win?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, get that smug look off your face,” she teases, looking up at him from her snuggled position on his couch.

 

“What’s wrong with my face?” he taps one cheek with a mocking quizzical look and rests on the arm of the couch by her feet.

 

“Absolutely nothing. Honestly, it’s so good looking that if you don’t like, scrunch it up and make it at least a little bit ugly I’m not going to be able to wait long enough for you to give me this stupid gift before I pull you over here and put a kiss on that smirk of yours.”

 

“I actually had three things picked out and thought you’d definitely hate one of them, maybe the second, and figured I’d have the best luck with the third. But still. Risky.”

 

“You know you could have just talked to me on the phone for an hour and I would have been happy,” she kicks his back with the top of her foot a little and he smiles, “or gotten me a puppy. That’s really the only acceptable alternative.”

 

“Shit, well, why didn’t you tell me that before I got you a cat!”

 

“You got me a cat?”

 

“No, you hate cats.”

 

Iris laughs, eases out of her panic for a second and feels something warm and tight and knotted inside her when he laughs that way at her, eyes twinkling in the dimly lit room.

 

“Please don’t hate me, I know you’re probably way too cool for something like this, but I’m a sap and the second  **I saw it, I thought of you**.”

 

“Is it jewelry?”

 

“Why do you have to say it like that?” He laughs at her crooked expression, her voice laced with a little bit of annoyance, but the kind of annoyed that screams, dammit someone should not be allowed to be this cute, and that someone shouldn’t be sitting here waiting to give her jewelry.

 

“I really like it. Just wear it once for me and then you can re-gift it to your best friend, or something?” And Iris could tell he was really excited about it, like he probably had a perfect little speech all planned out and good lord, she really liked this boy. Like. Really.

 

“Okay, let’s see it.”

 

He holds out a little box to her, which she takes, no ribbons or paper or anything, and locks eyes with him, before opening it.

 

“I’m really really bad at wrapping. Like, don’t expect anything at Christmas.”

 

“Well, I better be getting a puppy by then, and that shouldn’t be wrapped,” she laughs, feels something inside her flutter because he keeps looking at her like  _that,_ which makes it impossible to concentrate and really impossible to keep her hands from shaking.

 

She lifts the top of the box and sees a necklace, a little gold chain, with a delicate jeweled sunflower hanging in the center.

 

She starts to say something, she doesn’t know what, but she wants to say something. But she doesn’t get the chance because all of a sudden, Barry is up and off the couch and pacing in from of her, stumbling over his words.

 

“I’m sorry if it’s weird or anything, I just figured, you know, you were definitely sick of people getting you things with irises. You know, every guy has probably bought you an iris before, and I didn’t need you making fun of me for being a sap and cliché,” Barry mumbles rapidly, Iris sitting up and following him with her eyes as he walks.

 

“And there’s like, a story, as to why a sunflower. Not just because I picked any flower other than an iris,” he lets out a little breath, then continues, “So, you remember the day I first talked to you right, through the wall? Well, it was shaping up to be the most awful day of my life. It started when I overslept, ran to work, got a good yell from the captain for getting there so late. Work was a disaster because some impatient detective went rifling through my things looking for some report he wanted before I got there, and everything was out of order. So I tried fixing everything for an hour or two, and nothing felt right, and then I remembered what day it was. And I realized why it already felt so bad.” He shakes his head, looks at Iris for the first time in his rant, and almost looks apologetic.

 

“I told you my dad’s in prison. Well, he’s there because everyone thinks he killed my mom,” he lets out a shaky breath, Iris stills, he continues, “I’m sorry to drop that on you, on your birthday of all days, I really don’t tell anyone that, whenever I can get around it because then people just look at me funny. But anyway, I realized, it was the anniversary of her death. I hadn’t even remembered, so busy trying to run to work and everything. And it’s always the most awful day, because if I hate it, I can only imagine how awful my dad must feel. Because he has the whole world believing that on this day, 15 years ago, he turned into a monster. And the only one who believes he didn’t is me.

 

“So I get kept at work so, so late. I have a lot to catch up on and they won’t let me leave, and I know visiting hours are about to end. And as soon as I can, I sprint to Iron Heights, as fast as I can, with a bouquet of sunflowers.” He laughs a little to himself. “Mom’s favorite. Dad gave them to her whenever he could. I don’t usually work up the courage very often to go visit her, but I usually at least buy the flowers, keep them in here for a few days. My dad likes to see when I have them. I can’t bring them with me to talk to him, but I know sometimes he can see the guards taking them from me before I walk into the room. So I get there, that day, and they won’t let me in. Too late, they said. And I feel even more awful before because I missed my dad, on the day he needed to see me most. And no one was going to get it.”

 

Iris doesn’t know what to say. She wants to hug him real tight and never let him go. He looks like he has more to add, so she stays quiet.

 

“So I go home, with my sad bouquet of sunflowers, walk all the way home in the rain, no umbrella and think, god, there really is no way anyone in the world could be having a worse day than me right now. But when I got home, flowers in a vase, sitting on this very comfy couch with leftover cold pizza and feeling sorry for myself, I heard this awfully loud thud on the wall behind me.”

 

Iris smiles. She likes that for the first time in the story, Barry does too.

 

“I was pretty alarmed at first, I mean, it was loud. And then I heard something shatter, so now I’m really nervous. Like, I know cops and stuff, so I should call someone, right? I mean, my neighbor is definitely being robbed right now, is all I keep thinking to myself.” Iris shakes her head, places the box on the cushion next to her and holds her hands together, listening to him. He continues, “But then I hear some really muffled crying and I think to myself, wow, I found her. I found someone having a worse day than me.”

 

Iris can’t hold her laugh in so quietly now, his grin coupled with the way he messes up his hair too wonderful for words, “I can’t believe I was crying that loud.”

 

“And the yelling, just like, weird, grunting noises. I knew you were angry, knew not to mess with you right from the start.”

 

“Smart boy.”

 

“And well, I thought, she’s definitely having a worse day than me, and I know I’d really like someone to just check in on me on days like today. It felt like crap when midnight was rolling around and no one had known, no one had just given me a little pat on the back and said it was going to be okay. Even if it wasn’t. It would have felt nice to have a little hope. So, I decided—to hell with it! If she’s going to yell, she can yell at me while I am actively caring about her.” He smirks and crouches across the other side of the table, hands hovering near the box.

 

“She sounded pretty. I don’t know how someone manages that.  _Sounding_ pretty. But, I don’t know. She was something else. So of course, I get all nervous, not even looking at her, because I’m so bad at talking to girls. But she sounded so happy, even when I kept apologizing for literally just existing.”

 

“That was kind of annoying.”

 

“Please, just tell me it was a little cute.”

 

Iris squints her eyes at him, her lips twisting into a happy grin.  _A lot_ cute, actually, she thinks.

 

“And for some strange reason, I was really tempted to walk over and leave you a sunflower. But that sounded kinda creepy the more I thought about it. But I don’t know, I just wanted to give a pretty girl pretty flowers. And well, I’m me, so I didn’t, but I swore, one day, I’d get enough courage to buy the pretty girl next door, who I was assuming was pretty only based on the sound of her voice through my wall, a whole bouquet of sunflowers. So many that she’d need both hands to hold them all. Like she’d stick her nose in them and smell them and smile and I’d feel like a stupid lovesick science nerd just looking at her smile because of something I did.”

 

And she doesn’t even notice when she started, but she thinks the way her face looks right now would be pretty close to the smile he was looking for, probably even a little brighter.

 

“I always kind of resented sunflowers. Not like they did anything to me, but they carried kind of a sad weight to them. And all of a sudden, the girl next door goes and makes fun of me for watching  _The Voice_  and suddenly they’re my favorite flowers in the world.”

 

“So, you hiding that bouquet somewhere or…”

 

“Sunflowers are out of season right now. I tried my best.”

 

They both laugh, Iris pats the couch beside her, motioning Barry to join her, and he does.

 

“If you think I’m ever letting anyone in the entire world take this off of me after you put it on me in 30 seconds, you’re crazy.”

 

Barry bounces in his seat like he knows the answer in math class and needs to be called on right away.

 

“So I did good?”

 

“You’re not human, Barry Allen.”

 

He smiles a breathy smile before draping the necklace on her and clasping it shut. She twists back to face him, swinging an arm around his neck and her legs across his lap. He leans back on the cushion.

 

“So, I’m intrigued. What were these two other gifts you had in mind?”

 

“Well, the first time I ran through that whole spiel in my head, the first logical gift conclusion I came to was an umbrella,” he replies with a wince.

 

“Oh, wow, an umbrella?” Iris laughs.

 

“Rainy day? I don’t know,” he shrugs, “But I quickly realized you buy umbrellas for annoying great aunts, not for… Irises.”  
  


“It’s practical. I like the way you think,” she says, bumping her forehead onto his blushing cheek.

 

“Well, I bought one anyway, just in case you hated this one and I had to bait you to still hang out with me.”

 

Iris feels her hot laughter against his very close skin, “I’ll take it. Could always use another umbrella. It’s probably pretty, you’ve got a good eye.”

 

“It’s about as pretty as an umbrella could get, which isn’t saying much.”

 

“Well,” she nudges on, “mystery gift number three?”

 

Barry shakes his head, “I don’t know, I’d rather not even bring it up, you’d really hate it.”

 

“Stop, I need to know now.”

 

“No really,” Barry casts his eyes down at the floor beneath the couch, hands still subconsciously playing with Iris’s fingers on his left side, “Let’s just leave it at my two good ideas.”

 

“Barry Allen, you know the more you resist, the more I’m going to need to know.”

 

She shoots him a challenging glare, one his pretty little blue eyes can only take for so long before he sighs in defeat and presses back into the couch. Iris claps her hands and bounces to sit beside him.

 

“So, I had this idea, stupid idea,” he starts, not looking at her, “to walk you home, say something pretty smooth, which, was where the idea should have ended, because who are we kidding, I can’t make up anything smooth?” he shrugs, Iris laughs, he continues, “but anyway, I’d say something cool enough to get you to come back in here with me, I’d take your hand, and sit with you on my couch, oh wait,” Barry looks up for the first time, as if he’s had a sudden realization, looks between the two of them and says, “Wow. Kind of like this!”

 

Iris feels something warm deep inside her, and god, he really has to stop looking at her like that. Like. Really. Bow tie is about to be yanked off with no warning.

 

“And then I don’t know. That’s where the plan kind of got hazy. I guess we’d just, sit here and make out until you got tired of it and—oh!” She feels Barry’s yelp as she grabs that perfectly ironed, buttoned up collar of his and pulls him to her, smashing his lips on his and kissing until she can’t possibly have enough oxygen to survive any longer. She breaks a part only for a second, one of his hands around her waist, settled by her lower back, the other tangled in her hair, her thumbs lightly stroking his perfect little face as she holds it.

 

She only stops to breathe long enough for him to say, “See? I  _knew_ you’d hate it!” With that stupid little grin of his that she just  _needs_ to kiss every second she sees it, before pushing him down onto the couch and deciding she’s going to steal that sweatshirt tonight—Right after she finishes biting Barry Allen’s bottom lip like it’s the best thing she’s tasted in years (because it is) and catching her breath from the way he trails kisses down her neck and feeling every inch of those abs hiding underneath his button down shirt, and pretending the way she kisses his collarbone isn’t going to need to be covered up by a bowtie the next day (not that she’d mind, she loves the bowties, of course).

 

* * *

 

“For me?”

 

“Don’t think I know anyone else in here who likes their coffee with milk and two sugars,” Barry shrugs, setting the coffee down on her desk.

 

She smiles up at him, then takes a warm sip, “What’s the occasion?”

 

“ **Just because**.”

 

She lets out a happy little sigh and she leans back and swivels in her chair.

 

“Well, it’s actually just what I needed. I’m meeting with my boss on an article that isn’t going too well, and I think this is really going to help.”

 

“Good coffee is like magic,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking on his toes.

 

“Mmm,” Iris hums, tilting her head to one side, “Don’t think I was talking about the coffee.”

 

Barry tucks his chin and Iris is sure she’ll never get tired of making his face do  _that._ That thing where he’s sure there’s no way this girl is talking to him like that. And yet, she most certainly is.

 

“Well, I gotta run to the lab. So many new fingerprints for me to test today.” He slowly backs away from the desk.

 

“That’s my star CSI,” She stands up from her desk, “Mason’s office is on your way, I’ll walk you out?”

 

She links an arm through his, feeling like she’s gonna get a lot of questions from nosy coworkers later, and for the first time in a while, being pretty excited to answer them.

 

“This is my stop,” Barry shrugs when they reach the door, “Remember,  **I don’t care how late it is** , when you get home you—”

 

“Knock twice,” she finishes, waving a hand over her forehead, “Aye, aye, captain.”

 

He smiles and opens the door, and Iris suddenly feels cold, not from the gust of wind from outside that his leaving rushes in.

 

She tries to shake it off and she walks into Mason’s office, file folder of all her work on the article tucked under her right arm.

 

“Who was that?” he questions, motioning her to sit across from him.

 

“Uh, that was, uh,” she says, sitting, “just, uh, Barry. My… Barry.”

 

“ _Your_ Barry?”

 

She purses her lips and nods. Avoiding his gaze.

 

He bounces his knee under his desk, leaning his head in his hand on the edge of his desk, “Seemed pretty special.”

 

“He is,” Iris almost shouts at him, quickly, then leans back, softer, “he is.”

 

“Well, let’s just get this over with, because you’re not gonna like me after what I have to say,” Mason slaps some papers in front of him, “I could publish this. As is.”

 

She furrows her brows and squints at him.

 

“But I’m not going to. I don’t want to,” he starts again, “Because, quite honestly, it’s fine. Some good ideas you have in there. But you could do  _so much better_ ,” he shuts his eyes as he says it, like he can see how much better she could be.

 

“Look, I’m trying—”

 

“Are you?” he cuts her off, “I don’t mean to be rude, but are you? Really? I know I asked a lot of you for this. It’s personal. Journalism is objective. This feels weird. I get it.” He stands up, and paces to leaning on the desk in front of her, “And I am so so sorry that someone made you believe with your whole heart that love doesn’t exist.”

 

“It’s not that—”

 

“I’m just gonna keep cutting you off because I feel like whatever you have to add isn’t going to help us here,” he holds a hand out to her, “No offense.” She shakes her head, lets him go on, “I hate whatever jerk did this to you. Don’t know the guy. Never will. Hate him, nonetheless. Hell, I barely know you, West.”

 

She smiles softly at him.

 

“Yet,” he says, “I know how special you are. And in the least creepy way possible, like don’t file anything with HR, I really care about you. And I hate that I saw you with a boy for less than a minute, and can already name 10 ways he loves you, and you’ll spend months with him and not be able to see one.”

 

Iris feels something flutter at the mention of Barry. Why is everyone convinced he’s in love with her?

 

“Maybe it was selfish of me to put this story on you just so I could feel like I helped fix you, but that was banking on it working. And I feel like it could work, you’re just not letting it.”

 

“Mason, it’s nothing against you, or Barry, or anyone else, I just don’t… I don’t know how to feel that anymore.”

 

“That’s just flat out wrong. You don’t get to  _know anything_ about love. That’s the whole point. Love just happens and you have to decide to ignore it or hop on for the ride. And you’re tiny, but you’re tall enough to ride, I checked,” He chuckles.

 

He starts to speak again before Iris can think of anything to say, “If you don’t call me within the next month to say you’ve got another article to show me, I’ll publish this. It’s fine. It says a lot about dating in the modern world. But it’s kind of a downer, and if I’m saying that, the biggest sad sack out there, it’s pretty bad. And I don’t think it’s what you, or anyone really believes. You can inspire hope, Iris, you have that power. You’re magic. Those fingers of yours, can change the world. I know it feels impossible when you’re writing about something like hair color or teeth-whitening strips or love, and not the biggest news story. But you’re the rare kind of writer we come across that can make anything she writes inspire hundreds. I’m not trying to convince you to keep writing those soapy things forever. I’m getting you that promotion. I just think, you have the power to do this, to write something really special, that touches people, that helps people who just got out of the most awful, terrible, abusive relationships—”

 

She sighs, feels a tear roll down her cheek, he continues, “You don’t need to do this. I get it. But I think you can. And you will inspire so many people to know that it gets better. That they can get out, get help, and hell, probably fall into real love.”

 

She swallows hard before she starts to really cry.

 

“He’s getting married, my ex. Kind of set me over the edge. Hated writing this.”

 

“You deserve better, Wonder Kid West.”

 

“So I’ve heard.”

 

“Start believing it. Or someone’s gonna steal that, uh, Barry of yours,” he winks. “I need a coffee, you want anything?”

 

“No, thanks, I’ve got one at my desk,” She smiles, thinking of how she got it.

 

“Yeah, I know, I had to buzz the kid into the building with it. Just wanted to see you smile.” Iris shakes her head at him as he leaves his office, “One month, West. Do whatever you need.”

 

After work that day she stops by Cisco’s for some well-deserved venting, and admitting he was right, and letting him gush about how much he loved Barry, which absolutely no one that Iris knew could ever seem to stop doing.

 

She leaves feeling a little lighter, a little gentler, a little kinder to herself.

 

She grabs her mail on the way up to her apartment, starts shuffling through it as she climbs the stairs, and stops dead in her tracks when she flips to one long white envelope.

 

She knows that address. Lived there for a while.

 

She reaches her door but doesn’t get inside before stopping right where she is and drops everything else she’s holding. She tears open the envelope at an alarming rate, and feels like not a single part of her body can be receiving any oxygen now.

 

Jerkface asshat invited her to his wedding. The fucking  _nerve_  of this guy.

 

She doesn’t notice when it starts, doesn’t feel it until the invitation feels heavy with wet spots, that she’s crying, gasping, tears she can’t figure out how they started or how they can be stopped.

 

She had already had her phone in her pocket, ready to call Barry the second she got home, try to bribe him to do some of that kissing on his couch again, so it feels kind of natural, like instinct, to pull it out in her tears and call him.

 

He picks up on the second ring.

 

“Hey, I’ve been waiting to hear—wait, Iris, Iris, what’s wrong?”

 

“He,” hiccup, “Invited me to” deep breath, shaky, “his wedding.”

 

“He what? Hold on, are you? Where are you?”

 

She’s still crying, doesn’t answer.

 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m coming. Stay exactly where you are, don’t move,  **I’m coming** , okay?”

 

She hears his big feet run towards his door, the handle twist, and door swing open. She’s already facing him. He stills, staring at her, breaking down, looks like he thinks it’s all his fault, stupid boy, doesn’t he know nothing he could ever do would be his fault?

 

He takes one step before she can run at him and wrap her arms around his waist, her tears soaking his white cotton t-shirt quickly.

 

He tucks his face into the top of her hair, she can hear his soft shush and whispers, feel him rub up and down her shaking arms.

 

She lets it out for a minute, maybe two, or it could be ten, she’d never know. He holds her tightly, like he wants to fix the world just by hugging her. And honestly, she feels like it could happen. He could do that for her.

 

“Has anyone ever told you your hugs are magic?” She sniffles.

 

“How are you still managing to be charming? You’re like Wonder Woman.”

 

“Please don’t out charm me right now. I need this,” she places her hands on his shoulder and he laughs.

 

He tucks hair behind her ear and  **kisses her forehead** , “Sorry, too charming. I just had to.”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“Not to risk sounding like a douche or anything, but, would you stay over tonight? Like, wholesome, teary cuddling only.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“Quick, before I change my mind,” She giggles, walking to pick up her dropped bag and discarded mail.

 

“I mean, I’m in, but I would not hate it if you changed your mind. Because, I don’t think I ever told you  **how good you looked in this outfit**  today.”

 

She looks at him quickly, and he throws his hands up, “What? It’s not charming, it’s just fact. You are objectively…  **the prettiest person I have ever seen**.”

 

“Get inside, Allen,” she points towards her open door.

 

At some point they settle on her couch, Iris playing with his messy brown hair, Barry tracing light patterns on her thigh.

 

“Is it weird that I want to go? I shouldn’t, right? I mean, that’s just weird?” She asks, looking at him.

 

He shrugs, “I don’t think it’s weird. I get it. He sucks, but you spent a while with him. And he, being the… sorry, what do we call him?” Barry whispers aside.

 

“Jerkface asshat.” Iris states proudly.

 

“Right, right,” Barry nods, seriously, which makes Iris laugh, “Well, being the jerkface asshat that he is, kicked you out before you could ever figure out why. No closure. I hate open ended cases at work that we can’t solve. Sometimes they get left open forever, and there’s nothing we can do about it. But whenever we get a little lead, something that can make it sit a little better, I work on it.”

 

“Very smart of you, CSI Allen.”

 

“So, it makes sense if you want to go. Get some closure. Throw a drink at his face.”

 

She laughs and squeezes his hand.

 

“I don’t know if I can go to both parts though. Like, ceremony  _and_  reception sounds like a full day that I don’t need.”

 

“Then we’ll pick just one to go to. That’s enough.” He states simply, and Iris twists to look at him, square in that pretty little face of his.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“You’re coming with me?”

 

“Well, I mean, I just… not if you don’t want to, I just thought, maybe…”

 

She rests her forehead against his, “You really can’t help it, huh? Being that charming without even trying?”

 

He laughs, she can feel his eyelashes on her cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“What did I say about apologizing?” She giggles, “Being charming is like, your superpower.”

 

He tilts his head back with a breathy laugh, and Iris feels he’s suddenly much too far away, “Hold on, get back here, pretty boy,” she tugs him back by his hair, feels his little eskimo kisses as he does.

 

“Can I tell you something?” She asks.

 

“ **You can tell me anything**.”

 

“I hate him.”

 

“Good.” Barry says, and Iris laughs, “Now can I tell you something?”

 

She curls his hair around her fingers and looks into his deep blue eyes. She nods.

 

“I love you.”

 

And she has definitely never felt something quite like this before, nothing so good, so whole, so warm, so… perfect. He loves her. He  _loves_ her.

 

And the best part is, she believes him.

 

She hates that she lets out a tear. Because this is quite honestly the coolest moment of her life, Barry Allen  _loves_ her, and she always gets the most unsexy runny nose when she cries.

 

“Ah, dammit, this is bad,” She winces with a hint of a smile, her hands holding his face in front of her, “I’m gonna have to sit through a lot of ‘I told you so’s.”

 

Barry lets out the most joyous laugh she’s heard since she couldn’t find her key outside her apartment that night so many months ago.

 

“Oh yeah, and I  _know_ how much you hate that,” he says, that lightness of his laugh still laced in his voice.

 

“And I hope you also know… you know that  _I_ …”  _love you_. That I love you too, Barry Allen. She wants to say it, shout it, scream it from the rooftops and wear it printed on at-shirt for good measure. But it still gets caught in her throat.

 

He nods. “ **I know** , I know,” she likes that she can feel his nod with their heads still touching, “’course I know, I’m a forensic scientist, Iris. I’m very good at finding clues,” He giggles.

 

“You’re just good at everything, aren’t you?”

 

“You think so?”

 

“Know so. And there’s this one thing, I especially think you’re good at, like me and only me.”

 

“Oh really?” Barry says in a breathy sigh, then Iris sees a devilish smirk cross his face, a little twinkle in his eyes, before he presses kisses down her jaw, to her neck…

 

“Yeah, think you know what that is?”

 

“I’ve got an idea.”

 

* * *

 

 They decide to go to just the ceremony. Iris guesses she’ll have to talk to people the least there, she can sit in the back, clap quietly when they kiss, hold Barry’s hand the whole time.

 

He looks amazing, like she didn’t see that one coming.

 

He decides  **he wants to cook her dinner** , showed up at her door the night before with bags of stuff, shoved it all in her locker, and kissed her goodnight. So that’s how she ends up stretched across her couch, TV volume low, her long red dress dragging on the floor, a can of diet coke fizzing on the table in front of her, after the most torturous wedding she’s ever sat through, smiling at the boy in her kitchen cooking pasta, or something, she doesn’t know, doesn’t care, it just smells good, (but not as good as  **his suit jacket she’s still hugging around her shoulders** ).

 

“I mean, I guess she looked pretty,” she leans her head over the side of the couch and looks at Barry in the kitchen, upside down.

 

“Yeah, nice flowers.”

 

“Really? I thought the yellow roses were kind of cheesy.” She hears Barry’s noncommittal shrug and continues, “They didn’t seem very special, or anything. Like, if I was holding anything other than sunflowers at our wedding it would just be wrong.”

 

Iris doesn’t realize what she’s said until she’s said it, but hears Barry stops stirring for a second, so she knows he heard exactly what she said too. She pretends she can’t see the ear-splitting grin he tries to hide from her.

 

“So, I guess you hated his tie too. And I’ll be wearing a bowtie at this event?”

 

Iris feels like she could die. Just. Shut up, Barry Allen. It’s not fair that someone could be so goddam perfect all the time. Does he ever sleep, she wonders? Or does he just sit up all night coming up with new ways to be the most perfect human ever.

 

“His tie was hideous, don’t even get me started,” Iris kicks her legs a little, “And originally, the plan was for you to wear a bowtie, but I’m afraid I would not make it through the vows or anything without jumping the gun and having to kiss you the second I get up there.”

 

Yeah, she’d marry Barry Allen, in a heartbeat.

 

“Well, I think the real problem is gonna be who gets Cisco in his wedding party…”

 

“Dude, I swear to god, if he ditches me for you…” iris growls and Barry laughs, “I’ve been prepping him for maid of honor duties since we were 13.”

 

“Hey, I’m not the one you need to worry about, I’m not stealing him from you, I’m just saying,” Barry turns to face her, “I’m kind of irresistible best friend territory.”

 

Iris giggles and thinks again, yes, she’d marry the hell out of him.

 

They had gotten to the ceremony early, a small, outdoor seating area on a golf course, or something, like at a fancy country club. She saw his parents, an easy first greeting for her, a simple smile and nod at his dad and a gentle hand-squeeze from his mom. Barry  **rubbed small circles on her back**  while she did, and she doesn’t remember it being so bad.

 

Iris was surprised the wedding was happening so fast, with no warning. She joked to Barry that she must be pregnant, to which he replied that this wasn’t a soap opera, so Iris of course had to reply he was right because if it was a soap opera they’d be getting married on a ship owned by. A drug lord, or in the basement of a mob gang’s headquarters. He laughed with a little shake of his head and told her she was crazy.

 

“ **Crazy about you** ,” she smirked.

 

His eyes twinkled.

 

Turns out, talking to a second or third cousin seated next to them, both iris’ ex and the new wife had wanted a small wedding to save for buying a house. Understandable, but still, then, how did  _she_ make the cut for “small wedding”? They had planned the whole thing in a few short weeks and were just happy to be with each other.

 

“Iris?” Barry whispered to her once the groom had arrived and was standing at the front.

 

“I’m good, I’m good,” she nodded lightly to herself, and Barry squeezed her hand.

 

“Yeah, that’s good, and  **I’m proud of you** , but I just wanted to make sure…” he leaned closer to her, his smirk turned up on the right side of his mouth, “We still think I’m better looking than him, right?”

 

Iris wishes she laughed softer than she did, well, actually, hell, she is glad she laughed so loud, because she was happy with Barry and everyone should know that.

 

The ceremony was short, sweet, nice, again, the only way to describe it. Nothing special. They looked happy enough, and she guesses that was all she needed to see.

 

Iris’s favorite part though, is when the vows come. She had been dreading them, listening to some guy she had poured her heart out to for years promise someone something he could never do for her. It was bound to sting. And yet, she sat there, and not a second of it hurt.

 

She smiled, actually smiled, watching it. Because it didn’t hurt, it felt kind of beautiful actually. And not because she was so in awe of their love, but because she was so in awe of her own.

 

She kept her eyes on the couple the whole time, but she could feel Barry keeping his eyes on her, watching, waiting, wanting to help her.

 

Holy shit, she was in for it with this guy.

 

She liked the vows because it felt like her world started spinning again. She had a guy who would promise her those things every day, twice a day, who would drop everything just to love her. People wait years for their wedding, to feel so in love with and so loved by someone that it feels like you could burst, and here iris sat, knowing she’d had that for a few months now, just in regular ordinary life.

 

Then would have been the perfect time to tell him she loved him, she knows it, but, it still feels weird and gets caught in her throat. So, she just squeezes his hand and hopes he knows.

 

And that look he gives her, yeah, he knows.

 

They start to leave fairly shirt after the newlyweds process out the aisle, and Iris realizes she could get out with just a wave goodbye, but something makes her stop. She walks up to him and she feels him stop breathing. She kind of likes that she doesn’t.

 

Barry hangs back, letting her have this. She still feels pretty powerful, even alone.

 

She holds a hand out to him, he shakes it.

 

“Congratulations.”

 

“Iris—”

 

“No, really. I’m glad I saw this. You seem happy.”

 

The new wife smiles. She has no idea who Iris is. Iris reaches out to congratulate her too.

 

“I know this doesn’t answer a lot, but you never did anything wrong,” he offers up, and iris looks at him, “Just, so you know. I heard how awful I made you feel about it. And I just don’t want you still thinking you were the awful one here.”

 

“I don’t think that. Not anymore.” She says truthfully. She knows she did, at one point. She hated his guts right after he dumped her, but she still felt like the only reason he could have ended it was because she wasn’t good enough anymore.

 

But when you had someone looking at you the way Barry did, it was impossible not to feel like you were the reason the Earth spun.

 

“Thank you for coming. I haven’t felt good about this at all.”

 

“Well, like I said. You seem happy.”

 

“So do you,” he smiles, “He  _is_ better looking than me.”

 

Iris makes Barry sing for her the whole car ride home. She just sits in the passenger seat, looking at him,  _laughing_ at him, and she’ll never get tired of saying how wonderful he is.

 

So now she sits, kind of looking at Barry the way you stargaze at night, while he cooks her dinner, in their fancy wedding outfits, the sun just setting outside her window.

 

She stands up quickly and walks towards him, wraps her arms around his waist and sighs into his back.

 

“Did you come to help, or be a distraction? Because, you kind of  **make my mind go all fuzzy** , and I don’t wanna burn the place down.”

 

“Fine, I’ll leave you alone,” she throws her hands up and leans on the counter next too him. He looks down at her, and pouts with her gone. She scoffs, “Well, make up your mind!”

 

“You confuse me, Iris West.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“I’m a very rational person, most of the time,” he shakes his head down at the sauce he’s stirring, “I mean, I’m a scientist. I know how things work and why, down to the tiniest particles. But you…”

 

Iris feels something warm and tight in her chest when he looks up next.

 

“But when I look at you, when you smile at me like that. There’s just no way.  _That_  cannot be science.”

 

“Can you hurry up and cook that so I can kiss you?”

 

“Fast as I can,” he shrugs.

 

She hops up to sitting on the counter, facing him, her head resting against a cabinet, and watches as he cooks and starts explaining some scientific reasoning behind smiling, just to further his point. She doesn’t understand a word that comes out of his mouth, but she does like the way he smiles when he does it, so she guesses he’s doing something right.  

 

“So the neurotransmitters,” he starts, a few minutes into his rant, “fire down—” and with a stir, sauce goes flying onto iris’s lovestruck face.

 

A hand flies to cover Barry’s gaping mouth. He laughs.

 

“Barry Allen!” He yells, her smile betraying her tone.

 

“Oh my god, Iris, you got a little something,” he giggles and moves to wipe it off.

 

“Oh, hell no, this is war,” she hops down from the counter, pulls out a spoon from a drawer.

 

“Are we really about to do this? Are we going to have a food fight?”

 

“It seems only fair,” she dips her spoon into the pot and slides up next to Barry, their chests flush against each other. Her stare is challenging, his is light and giggling. “I really love the way you look in red.”

 

And she drops a spoonful of sauce on his head.

 

That starts it.

 

He goes to grab her hands but she swivels around too quick for him, back into a corner of the kitchen were she can grab a salt shaker. He ducks under her arm that’s leaning on the counter and grabs a fistful of flour. Iris shrieks and runs away, but her holds his palm out and blows a floury kiss in her direction, the puffs of white clouds catching her before she can get away. She fires salt at him, that he shields with two arms in front of his face, then goes in for another spoonful of sauce. She laughs as she grabs a cheese and smears it on his cheek, he simultaneously paints sauce on her forehead. She runs away, hand on her stomach laughing, as he karate chops some bread and flings it at her. She catches it and throws it right back.

 

“Too slow, Barry Allen.”

 

“Me? Too slow?”

 

She hums and picks up some chopped onion on the counter.

 

She feels a laugh bubble up inside her and she tosses onion at him, his eyes set defiant was he ducks and charges for her, only stopping briefly to look at the onion he dodged, kind of shocked he pulled that off, then scoops her up by the waist and spins her around, both of their laughs never quite subsiding.

 

When he sets her down, both of them a mess, covered in sauce and flour and cheese and salt, she looks up at him, out of breath, her smile wide. He matches.

 

“You probably shouldn’t call me slow ever again.”

 

They don’t bother cleaning up right away, just put on some old comfy clothes and sit on the floor by the TV to eat dinner, which, he somehow still managed to cook deliciously.

 

Iris is laying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, her head next to Barry who lays the other way opposite her, hands resting on his stomach.

 

“Okay, your turn.”

 

“Hmmm,” Barry hums, thinking of the next embarrassing childhood story to tell, “So in second grade, I won my classroom spelling bee.”

 

“Little nerd.”

 

“And I was super excited, because yes, little nerd, but I also had awful stage fright,” he seems to wince at the memory, “So I get up on stage for the school wide spelling bee, ready to represent Miss Johnson’s class, all proud and whatever.”

 

“Were you wearing a bowtie?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You were!”

 

“I was not!” he yells, “but I did have on a sweater vest,” he concedes in a whisper. Iris giggles as he continues, “So I walk up to he mic when it’s my turn, and I had studied a lot, and I knew the word! So easy!”

 

“Don’t tell me you remember it…”

 

“Neighbor. N-E-I-G-H-B-O-R. but…” Barry trains his eyes towards the ceiling, “for at least 4 years, everyone made fun of me for spelling it with a P.”

 

“What? How did you—”

 

“Just, think about it.” Barry says, obviously mortified, And Iris looks over at him, “Not the  _letter_  pee…”

 

The Iris gasps, and tries so hard not to laugh, “No way!”

 

Barry nods solemnly and Iris cannot contain herself, she kicks her legs in a laughing fit and grabs his arm, as he just stares blankly, “Oh yeah, peed my pants. Right on stage. N-E-I-G-H-pee. I will never be able to spell that word without feeling physically ill.”

 

“You must hate all your neighbors.”

 

“All of ‘em. Every last one,” he says, Iris still giggling at his side.

 

“I’m sorry, do need to use the bathroom, now, or…?” she asks, hitting his shoulder. He sits up with a sigh and she still laughs on the floor.

 

“You’re not very funny, and I hate you.”

 

“I don’t think that’s true.”

 

“Mhm, it is,” he nods, as she sits up, leaning her back against his, her head falling slightly to his shoulder, “And I think there’s only one way to we can fix that.”

 

“Oh yeah?” iris asks with a smile, “What you got in mind, spelling bee champ?”

 

“I guess you have to just, not be my neighbor anymore.”

 

Iris bites her bottom lips and tucks her hands under her chin, “You kicking me out, Allen?’

 

“Inviting you in,” he says softly, then she can feel him get nervous, like he still doesn’t know he’s got her wrapped around his finger, “If you want, or whatever…”

 

“I mean, it seems only logical. How else would you be able to sleep at night, knowing your girlfriend is next door, being your big scary  _neighbor_.”

 

Barry stays quiet for a second… “You’re my girlfriend?”

 

Iris waits a second to respond, “Yeah.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“Should we kiss now?”

 

“I mean, it seems only logical…” Barry spins to face Iris who climbs into his lap and doesn’t wait another second before stealing a kiss, a million kisses from Barry.

 

A few minutes later, iris hears a song playing on the TV.

 

“This is my favorite song,” she whispers to Barry, her eyes still heavy.

 

_Can’t Help Falling In Love_

Barry motions for her to move so he can stand. She follows holding onto his hand.

 

“Seems crazy we went to a wedding today and didn’t get to dance, right?”

 

“Barry, I am a terrible dancer.”

 

“Can’t be worse than me.”

 

“True, I can see that you have two left feet just looking at ‘em.”

 

Barry extends a hand, “ **Dance with me** , Iris?”

 

Iris looks up at his under her long lashes, and knows exactly what Cisco meant when he said Barry had heart eyes for her. She’s sure she knows exactly how it feels to think one person, one perfect person, is possible for making the entire world spin. Because that’s Barry Allen. That’s her Barry.

 

She grabs his hand. Contemplates never letting go.

 

He pulls her close, rests one hand around her waist and she swings one behind his neck. They start to sway ever so slightly to the music.

 

“ **You look amazing by the way** , I might have forgotten to mention that.”

 

“In my old t-shirt and fuzzy socks?” she looks down at her clothes, and when she looks up, realizes she could be wearing a garbage bag and Barry would still look at her the way he is looking right now.

 

“Looks good on you.”

 

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

“Don’t know how I pulled this one off.”

 

She looks up at him, lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He elaborates, “I will never get over the fact that  **you are so far out of my league** , it’s not even funny. I thought I was losing it when you said you wanted to hold my hand, now I’m dancing with you in your living room.”

 

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Iris says, “I also should never stand a chance with you.”

 

“Not true. You’re you and I’m—”

 

“My hot neighbor? Yeah,” Iris laughs, “Before I knew your name, hell, even after I knew your name, I only referred to you at ‘hot neighbor’. I mean, have you seen your abs? Your arms? And we know how I feel about your work outfits.”

 

Barry seems stunned, like he can’t possibly believe she’s telling the truth. She continues, “And it’s annoying, because you’re way too hot for it to be humanly possible,  _and_ you’re just about the most adorable person on the planet. It is impossible to look at you and not wanna run my fingers through your hair, or  **never stop looking into your eyes**  that twinkle like you’re a cartoon character, or like I really wanna just, walk around with my hand in your back pocket.”

 

“I would not object to any of those things, for the record.”

 

“You make girls ovaries explode with that little smile of yours, you know that, right?”

 

“That doesn’t sound good…”

 

“ **You’re perfect** , Barry Allen. No one deserves you.”

 

“I can think of one person who does.”

 

“If you say me, I swear…”

 

“I love you,” he says, their foreheads touching as they sway, “I’m not asking you to say it back or anything I just, really wanted you to know. I love you so much I barely know what the word means any more. You’ve escaped definition, Iris.”

 

“Barry, I—”

 

“I heard about that article you’re writing,” Barry says, with a smile, “Your boss told me about it one day when I was waiting for you outside your office. Gotta say, I’m kinda hurt you never asked for my help on it, with you know, me being hopelessly in love with you, and all.”

 

“Well, I didn’t know that.”

 

“ **You’re a smart girl**  Iris, but not too bright when it comes to knowing how crazy I am about you.”

 

“I think I’m starting to get it.”

 

“Yeah?” Barry says with a smirk, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to her lips, “Does that clear anything up?”

 

Iris laughs, “A little. You might want to do it again, just for clarification.”

 

“Of course,” Kiss, “I mean, it’s for a journalistic investigation, right?” kiss, “Very important that you fully,” kiss, “understand”.

 

Iris sighs happily, eyes shut, then says, “I need you to go.”

 

Barry squeezes her hand and steps away, slightly confused.

 

“I need you to go sit in your apartment where I can’t see you, because I am about to go write the greatest article I’ve ever written, and if you’re in here I won’t be able to concentrate, I’ll just want to keep loving you back.”

 

“Did you just…”

 

“So, I need you to go away. I am going to write this, because I am feeling awfully inspired, and then I am going to knock twice on the wall when I need you to come back in here.”

 

“Need me to come back?”

 

“Because I think I’m gonna be able to say that I love you,” Iris says, looking up at him, “Don’t hold me to it or anything, I might be too busy making out with you to be able to get any words out, but…”

 

“I got it,” Barry laughs, “ **Knock twice**.”

 

“Knock twice,” she echoes, as he heads for the door, a dreamy, hazy look on his face.

 

Iris sits on her couch and opens her laptop.

 

She types.

 

_Falling in love today has never been more difficult._

 

_Or, so I thought._

_On the outside, the world of dating in the modern age of technology seems like it could not be further from the sweeping romantics of years past. Hiding behind screens and usernames, it’s hard to believe in the sincerity of true love anymore. It’s not hard to fall out of being in love with the idea of love._

_A few months ago, I sat at my computer, tears streaming down my face, angrily cursing whoever invented the idea of love. Freshly dumped, kicked out of a relationship I didn’t think I had any business being kicked out of, I kind of resented anyone who thought love was real._

_Someone once told me we can never know anything about love. And yet, here I was, trying to investigate my way through it. Study it, like I was in a lab. And that just could not be done._

_Being in love has become sort of a game of who can look the part the best. The better your relationship looks, sounds, is liked by others, the more in love you must be. We toss around “I love you” so quickly, so trivially, that when love really comes along, it doesn’t feel right to say that._

_I had a relationship, a long one, built on all the things that love isn’t, but that we think it should be. He told me he loved me. I said it back. And yet, he dumped me anyway._

_So, when I moved back home, single, jobless, nowhere to live except my best friend’s couch, I felt really sorry for myself. I thought, well, if I couldn’t make this last, when I thought I was doing everything right, love surely isn’t real._

_Truth is, yeah, I did do everything right. I was the perfect girlfriend. A lot of us will be in relationships where we do everything right, yet it still goes all wrong. And you think to yourself that you’re crazy, that it must be your fault, that you broke his heart and not the other way around, like you said “I love you” and it didn’t stick and that’s not fair._

_Did you say it too soon? Too late? At a bad time? The wrong tone of voice?_

_There is so much unnecessary stress surrounding saying “I love you”. The pressure is insane. Love doesn’t exist like that. It can’t._

_When it’s really love, he’ll start finding ways to tell you he loves you from the moment you meet. You’ll have no idea it’s happening, probably not until your boss throws you a book called_ 50 Ways to Say I Love You _and you ignore it for a few months, and you still hate yourself for screwing up a relationship that you know you didn’t, but still feel like you did._

_I am living, breathing proof of the impossible. I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong. Love is just as good as it was 50 years ago, when cell phones didn’t exist and love letters did. Love looks just like it did, love is beautiful, love is kind, love is real._

_I want you to find it._

_I did._

_Because the best ways to say I love you usually don’t involve that tricky four-letter word. In my experience, they always sound just as nice._

_There’s a few ways to spot it, I’ll bold them for you so you don’t miss them, but I figure you should hear a story. A story about a girl, and a boy who knocked on her wall, and told her he loved her by asking her if she was okay._

_(Spoiler alert: she was going to be just fine)._

_…_

* * *

 

“Iris Badass West is back and better than ever!” Cisco shouts, concluding her father’s preceding toast rather triumphantly.

 

Iris raises her glass to her friends, her family, all huddled closely together in her tiny apartment, her apartment with Barry’s things haphazardly thrown around the place, because they couldn’t be bothered to clean up much and of course, it’s kind of his place too now.

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Joe West sighs as he hugs his daughter tight, kissing the top of her head.

 

“Feels pretty good,” Iris says, proudly, CCPN’s newest investigative journalist, “couldn’t have done it without you guys though.”

 

“I’m flattered, but uh, my writing sucks, so this was all you, girlfriend,” Cisco says, taking a large gulp of champagne.

 

“Who are you calling girlfriend?” Barry says from the other end of the room, perched on the couch.

 

“Easy, there, she’s all yours, not subtle at  _all_ in that article of hers.”

 

“You never told me what you thought of it, Barry. Did you still not finish it?” Iris asks.

 

“It’s your big article, I don’t wanna rush through it,” he says sheepishly, and feels three sets of eyes on him immediately, “Okay, I read it 5 times already.”

 

Cisco shakes his head and takes another sip, Joe laughs loudly, and Iris throws her hands up.

 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Allen,” she crosses the room and sits down next too him, looks up into his eyes, “But really, did you like it?”

 

“I don’t know, I mean, I think I remember liking what we did right after you wrote the article a whole lot…”

 

Iris hits his shoulder and he stumbles off his perch on the arm of the couch with a laugh.

 

“It was amazing, Iris. I’ll say it a million times if I have to, but you really don’t need me to tell you,” he smiles, “You’re incredible. Now the whole world knows.”

 

“I wouldn’t say the  _world_ …”

 

“If you think I’m stopping at anything less than the entire world having a copy of this article in their hands, I’d be the worst boyfriend in the world.”

 

She laughs at him, he grabs her hand, “Nice dedication at the end too. He seems like a cool guy, whoever he is.”

 

“Eh, he’s okay,” she shrugs.

 

“I’m very glad you realized it before it had to come to this, but I really think we deserve it…” Cisco starts, then motions towards Joe, who smiles before joining Cisco in yelling a triumphant, “We told you so!”

 

Iris waves them off as they laugh and go get something else to drink.

 

“Must feel pretty cool, seeing your name on that byline like that,” Barry says, sitting back down next to her.

 

“Feels great,” she starts, “But have you ever considered seeing something else there?”

 

“Like what, you planning on writing under an alias from now on?”

 

“No, just thinking. Iris West-Allen has a nice ring to it, no?”

 

Barry pales, then turns the brightest shade of red that Iris has ever seen. She can’t help the ways she laughs, brighter than ever before.

 

“You implying something?”

 

“I’m just saying, maybe you should get a move on it before sunflowers go out of season again…”

 

Barry throws his head back and sighs, Iris still giggling at his flustered demeanor.

 

“Alright well, if we’re doing this, we’re doing this. All in,” Barry slaps his hands on his knees, perched forward with a sigh, and stands up, “Joe, Cisco!” he yells and motions for them to meet them in the living room.

 

“What’s going on?” Iris says, suddenly slightly nervous.

 

“We’re telling her,” Barry nods at the two men, who look both frightened and excited.

 

“Now?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, turns out she wants to marry me, or whatever, so I think we should do it before she gets mad enough to change her mind!”

 

“Guys, what are you talking about?” Iris yells, exasperated.

 

“You wanna marry him?” Joe says, a little light in his smile like,  _finally._

 

“Well if she’s going to marry you, which I’m kinda mad she didn’t disclose with her best friend first,” Cisco glares a little, “Then we gotta tell her.”

 

“I’m gonna ask one more time, guys, what—”

 

“Please don’t get mad…” Barry starts, holding a hand out towards Iris, “I mean, if you’re going to get mad at anything, don’t get mad that I didn’t tell you sooner, because I wanted too, I just couldn’t. If anything, get mad at the fact that I talked to you through a wall when I could have been doing something so much easier.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I mean, in my defense, we all know I’m a hopeless romantic, and talking to my pretty neighbor through our shared, very thin wall was so much more romantic than  _walking through it_ ,” Barry says with a smirk, a kind of mischievous one that she’s come to love, but now just feels confused by.

 

“That was smooth,” Cisco says.

 

“Thanks, came up with that one pretty  _fast_ ,” Barry says with a wink, and then before Iris can register what’s happening, it feels like the greatest gust of wind she’s ever experienced fills her entire room, throws papers and napkins and pillows awry.

 

She sees lightning, And Barry is gone.

 

“Now that one was just cheesy,” Joe says, and Cisco nods in agreement.

 

“Barry? Where’s Barry?” Iris stands up, “And why do you not look concerned about it?” She scowls at them.

 

“You might wanna come stand over here with us,” Joe motions towards them, and Iris slowly, skeptically, leaves the couch and walks to stand between her father and her best friend.

 

“If I don’t get an explanation…”

 

“Don’t worry,” Cisco starts, “He’ll be back  _in a flash_.” She feels the two men high five behind her head. Her dad whispers about that one being good. Iris is so confused.

 

Until…

 

More lightning. And then she watches Barry Allen,  _her_ Barry Allen, dressed in a tight red leather suit, come running through her apartment wall.

 

“Holy shit. My boyfriend’s the Flash.”

 

* * *

 

_Before I finish this, I have a few people I want to thank._

_I had a lot of people cheering for me as I worked on this. They believed in me when I couldn’t do it for myself. My boss, for buying me my new favorite book, for pushing me to truly be your Wonder Kid West, to be better, write better, change the world.  For my best friend and my dad, who reminded me just how wrong I was when I thought my whole world was falling apart, because they_ were _my world. For cooking me food and buying me coffee and for not saying “I told you so”. Yet. I appreciate it._

_And I should probably thank this one guy, I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, I might have mentioned him once or twice—the love of my life. He’s got hair so perfect it’s practically begging me to mess it up, eyes that rival the most beautiful blue sky, long fingers that he swears are too long but fit perfectly in mine, a laugh that fills me up with something warm from my toes to the tip of my head that fits perfectly under his chin in a hug, and a smile that made me believe in love again._

_Someone once saw him visit me at work and asked me who he was. I really had no better word for it than to say that he was mine. My what? I don’t know. Probably my everything. But it’s a pretty good life, having this guy as your everything._

_He told me he loved me so much that he forgot what that word meant any more. Well, news flash, my boy, I know exactly what love means, and it’s seeing that perfect, stupid little smile of yours._

_You’re so perfect that every word that comes out of your mouth sounds like I love you. But I couldn’t bold everything you said in the story. So I started with something around 50. And I look forward to watching you discover about 50 more._

_You’re a dream boat._

_I love you._

_Sorry if I never say it enough._

_I hope you never go a single day for the rest of forever wondering if I do or not. Because as long as you keep smiling at me like that, and maybe wearing that blue bowtie I like so much, my answer will never change._

_I love you._

_They don’t include that one in the book, but I do like #14: thank you._

_Thank you, my everything. Thank you._  


End file.
